


these stories we tell

by redstaronmyshoulder (CaptainAmelia22)



Series: Tumblr Drabble [18]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Drabble, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/redstaronmyshoulder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just some word vomit I posted on tumblr tonight after derby practice.  Hope you like it!</p>
    </blockquote>





	these stories we tell

**Author's Note:**

> Just some word vomit I posted on tumblr tonight after derby practice. Hope you like it!

“Tell me a story James,” she asks one hot night in Havana, their bodies tangled together in bed.  Her fingers trail over his skin, making it bump despite the smothering heat bearing down mercilessly on them, and he smiles.  

“What kind of story,  _moya dorogiya_?” he asks, his eyes closing as she begins toying with his nipples.  

She snorts at the endearment and replaces fingers with teeth for a moment.  “Your accent is still terrible  _Amerikanskiy_ ,” she scolds, no real malice in her voice.  It’s an old argument, his accent, one carried through too many decades and too many alleigances.  

And too much blood.

He smirks, his body stirring as she shifts, the better to reach his jaw and cheeks, and he instinctively rests his hands on her hips.  

“Well, I had a terrible teacher didn’t I?” he asks, her lips trailing from his chest to the sharp shelf of his jaw and she snorts.  

“As I recall,” she murmurs, her mouth never leaving his skin.  “We didn’t do much talking back in those days.”  

“’Much talking,’” he repeats, fingers leaving her body for a moment to form air quotes around the words, which makes her chuckle and roll her eyes.  “There was  _no_ talking, Natalashenka.  Just fucking.  Lots and lots of that.”  

She raises her head at that, eyes dark in the shadows of their grimy hotel room and she grins.  He settles his hands once more around her hips, locking her in place and she rocks down into his grip absently.  

“Is that your story?” she asks, eyes narrowing when she feels his cock hardening beneath her and she pinches his chin between her thumb and forefinger.  “Us fucking for the Motherland?”

His eyebrow rises at that, matching hers and he closes the little distance between them to kiss her.

“Would you like that,  _moya malen'kaya pauk_?” he growls against her mouth, teeth nipping her swollen lips.  She shudders at his truly passable Russian.

At the endearment only she would consider as such.  

_My little spider…_

_“Y_ es,” she whispers back, her own teeth biting at his lips, at his chin, his jaw.  His throat.  “Yes, yes James.”

“Yes.”

His chest rumbles under her lips, his voice vibrating through her as he grips her hips hard enough to bruise and rolls so she sprawls beneath him. He gazes at her for a moment, at the way her hair spreads over the threadbare and sweat-dampened sheets like a pool of blood, at the way her breasts flush under his gaze, at the nipples hardening as they brush his chest with each frantic breath she takes and he bares his teeth in a predatory grin.

The likes of which she hasn’t seen since they were children.

“Well then,” he growls, dark eyes sparking dangerously as his hands move to grip her wrists and her legs wrap tightly around his hips in instinctive response to his thighs pressing between her thighs.  “Let the Master Storyteller begin his work, _vy neposlushnaya devochka.”_

She laughs at that, at the dark humor in his gaze, and as he reaches between them she reaches for him once more.  

“You are a good man, James Barnes,” she whispers as she kisses him and he begins to thrust slowly between her thighs.  “And I thank you for that.”

“I had a good teacher,” he whispers back, some of the humor gone from his gaze as he presses his forehead to hers.  

“The very best, Natashenka.”  


End file.
